


Twenty-Three Blue Flowers

by letters_of_stars



Series: Forest Fire Bright [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, M/M, Reunions, Wedding Fluff, and then smut, but yay! marriage //pops champagne//, fluff fluff fluff, general smut tags for anal fingering/sex/rimming/light marking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29731686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letters_of_stars/pseuds/letters_of_stars
Summary: All of Fódlan has gathered in his backyard and Felix is Not Pleased, even if he technically invited them. Why do weddings have to be so damned big? On top of the class reunions to end all reunions...but it does mean he'll finally be tying the knot, so maybe things will work out without being a complete disaster?And/or: the Sylvix wedding goes sort of how you'd expect.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Forest Fire Bright [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2180250
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Twenty-Three Blue Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Finally! The wedding chapters I promised that take place after the events in 'Forest Fire Bright'. I know it's been forever lol but I hope you still enjoy these.  
> If you haven't read the original work, you might be a little confused, so I'd rec that first~  
> I know I originally said two epilogue chapters, but it turned into three. One for the ceremony, one for the banquet, and one for the bedroom. It was really fun getting to write all the kids reuniting!  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! I appreciate it!

“You know, not many people get the King of Fhirdiad to be their maid of honor.”

“Well, it’s not like I ever asked you to!” Felix crosses his arms and watches in the mirror as Dimitri tries to fix his hair with an increasing look of desperation. “Please just ask Dedue to help. Please.” 

“I can do this!” Dimitri insists. Felix sighs and tries not to look too much at his reflection. 

“You know, not many people get to be the maid of honor for the Duke Fraldarius.” 

Dimitri bonks him on the head with a brush. “Stop being difficult or I’ll switch with Ingrid.” Ingrid, in a nearby room, sprucing up Sylvain for the wedding that begins in, oh, give or take an hour, and this stupid king doesn’t even know how to brush hair. Ingrid might pinch his ear but at least she can do hair.

“Oh give me that!” Felix snatches the brush for himself and stands, pacing around the room as he yanks the brush through his hair, completely undoing Dimitri’s attempts to put it up. Yank. Yank. Yank. 

Saints, he’s nervous. “I’m going to go see Sylvain for a minute,” he declares, and makes it into the hallway before Dimitri uses his superior strength to wrestle him back inside. 

“The groom can’t see the bride before the wedding,” Dimitri says firmly, and starts fixing all the frills and folds he’d screwed up in the struggle. 

“Well, neither of us is a bride, so…”

“Same idea. You’ll see Sylvain soon enough.”

Sure, but I want to see him now so he can make me feel less nervous about seeing him soon enough. Soon enough will be meeting at the altar in front of fucking all of Fódlan so I want to see him now. 

Also, Sylvain has seemed nervous the last few days. Maybe Felix wants to make sure he’s not getting cold feet. Which is an odd reversal of roles, but still. He hasn’t liked how quiet Sylvain has been. They shouldn’t have spent so much time apart since the engagement, no matter how necessary their work had been. He and Sylvain haven’t slept under the same roof very often in the past four moons, and never for more than a few days scattered about. There’s a lot of work involved with shifting all Gautier operations to the Fraldarius Castle.

“I’ll just shout at him without looking,” Felix decides, and is out the door once more before Dimitri can grab him. The doors of the Fraldarius Castle are solid, ancient wood, but he figures he should be able to shout loud enough for Sylvain to hear. 

“Hey, Sylvain!”

It takes a second, but there’s an answering call a few doors down. “Hey, how are you doing?”

Felix shrugs off Dimitri’s hand on his shoulder in favor of going to the door and speaking directly to it. “Dimitri can’t fix hair worth shit.”

“Ouch, Ingrid, we’re just _t_ _ alking _ , we can’t see each other, I just—well, Fe, you have a lot of hair!” He sounds like his normal self. “Get Dedue or something!”

“That’s what I said!” 

“Because it would ruin the point!” Ingrid snaps. “This is...four childhood friends coming back together at the place we played at the most, to see two of us actually getting married. It means something! Felix just...let Dimitri get you dressed and then I’ll come fix your hair.” 

Dimitri sighs. He’s all done up in his royal finery, but his own hair is in complete disarray from grabbing it with distress. Being a maid of honor is tough work. “It’s the flowers. I’m having a hard time getting them to stick.” 

Sylvain’s voice, when it travels back to them, is scathing. “The flowers are the problem? That’s the easy part! Don’t you remember making daisy chains? Same concept.” 

Dimitri looks down at his hands in dismay. Felix answers for him. “He has massive clumsy hands and keeps crushing the flowers.” Not that he would necessarily mind Dimitri crushing all the flowers, because he knows Leonie and the crew are out there and he’s not going to live down flowers in his hair, but Sylvain had wanted the little blue flowers so the little blue flowers he is going to get. Even their outfits are decorated with light blue, Felix with a vest that fits snug over his black shirt with blue ruffles at the cuffs, and he knows Sylvain is in white with a cape that’s blue silk on the inside. That’s all he’d been allowed to see. He has the feeling that light blue flowers had once featured in a story Sylvain told him so it has some special meaning attached, but he can’t remember for the life of him so he’ll go along and hope Sylvain doesn’t realize Felix forgot a story. 

“Alright, see? Ingrid’s coming, so just...let me finish getting you dressed.” Dimitri tugs at Felix’s elbow, and Felix follows, which must actually surprise the hell out of Dimitri because he stumbles like he’d been expecting resistance. Felix grabs his arm in a silent apology for being difficult and leads Dimitri back to their room. 

The blue vest doesn’t actually look too bad. It makes Felix’s eyes look very yellow in comparison, or maybe that’s just the morning light. He’s beginning to hear the sound of people settling into place outside, under the large canopy it had taken him and twenty guards to erect the previous day while Sylvain was swamped with making sure that refreshments would be on time and the tables set up properly and the perimeter properly but discreetly guarded because like hell were a bunch of wyvern riders going to ruin his wedding aesthetic. ‘Wedding aesthetic’ is a term Sylvain’s been using a lot. Whenever Felix reminds him he’d be good with a quick jaunt to Garreg Mach, Sylvain’s smile just gets slightly manic and Felix knows that Sylvain is dying to make an honest man of himself in front of everyone in Fódlan, so he shuts up about it. He also knows that this is the first time he’s seen some of these people in eight years, and Sylvain wants to...show him off a little, for lack of better terms. Duke Fraldarius, back from the dead, just so he can get married to the Margrave Gautier. It’s an ego thing. But this insistence on the perfect wedding has made it so they haven’t been spending much time just the two of them the past few days either, even now Sylvain is moved down to the Fraldarius Castle. Felix knows which he would prefer between a perfect wedding and a lazy afternoon spent together but fine. For Sylvain.

Blue vest, black shirt with the slight blue ruffles at the sleeves. The belts that hold his swords are dyed blue as well because Felix had insisted on wearing swords, and the laces of his boots match. But mostly he’s in black, which is an odd look, because Felix rarely ever wears black and the last time he can remember wearing so much was as a student. He appreciates that he’s not covered in frills and bows. It’s a practical sort of wedding outfit—he could fight in this if he needed to, and Sylvain knows that Felix isn’t going to stand in front of three hundred people and not be ready to fight. There are very very few times that Felix ever wants to be in a position where he wouldn’t be able to fight, and they sure as hell aren’t out in the open like that, despite the impressive number of guards there to ensure Dimitri’s safety. And the king of Almyra’s too, he supposes.

Still, Dimitri looks more ready to be wed than Felix does, in all those stupid clothes. Hah. He adjusts sashes and buttons and pins his hair back up while Felix combs through his own hair and does a quick braid. The crown he’ll be wearing is sitting on the bureau and Dimitri seems loathe to put it on until the last minute. 

“Can we just call Dedue in here?” Felix ties a ribbon around the end of his braid, the blue one he usually has in, but he knows it will be swapped for something that matches the color scheme soon enough. “It feels weird knowing he’s probably next door waiting for me to try to kill you.” 

The deep voice almost makes him fall off his stool. “Actually, I am in the hallway now.” 

“Saints, just come in here,” Felix grumbles, straightening. “His Majesty is having trouble with a button.” 

Dedue is doing that not-quite-smiling thing when he slips inside and helps Dimitri with his button. Felix watches them in the mirror, and then blinks up when Dedue approaches him. “Would you like my assistance or would you prefer to wait for Ingrid?” 

All Ingrid ever did with her hair was a braid, and Felix has already done that. “I’m really not sure what...wedding is supposed to look like,” he says, and tugs at his braid. “What did Byleth look like? She has long hair.”

Dimitri gives a groan and goes to lean against the wall. “That was a trying week.” 

“What? Why?”

“First there was the wedding, then my wife’s coronation, and then her ceremony to become Archbishop, all in the space of a few days and one awful ride to Garreg Mach. It was a lot of hassle, a lot of people not knowing what they were doing, and a lot of ridiculous outfits, all so things were right and proper on paper. It was...probably best you weren’t there, actually.” Dimitri shoots him a grin. “You probably would have killed someone important.”

That didn’t actually answer the question. “So what did she do with her hair?”

Dedue and Dimitri exchange a look. “I think Annette and Mercedes took over there,” Dimitri says. 

“But I can still be of assistance.” Dedue takes another few steps forward and touches Felix’s braid. “I often did my sister’s hair in fancy styles when she wished.”

Ah yes. Dead sister. Felix coughs and nods. “That would be...really nice of you. Thank you.”

Dimitri stays leaning against the wall where he can’t threaten any more buttons. “You’re surprisingly concerned about this, Felix,” he says casually as Dedue undoes the braid and starts fiddling. 

“Well, yeah, it’s important to Sylvain so, sure.” Felix shrugs, like it really is no big deal. “And I’ve never been to a wedding before. My father would always leave me here.” He snorts. “The first wedding I probably would have gone to was Glenn’s and Ingrid’s. Now, it’s mine. I have no references.” He raises an eyebrow at Dimitri. “Want to go down the hall and see if you can spy how fancy Sylvain’s outfit is? He wouldn’t tell me anything but I know there’s a cape.” 

“That’s standard for his uniforms now.” Dimitri waves a lazy hand. “He kept tying everything else around his waist so I asked him to wear a cape instead.” 

“Oh. Okay.” So Sylvain won’t be three times as fancy as Felix. That’s good to know. Still. “If you ever try to tell me what I have to wear, I will skewer you.” 

Dimitri bites at his lip a little. “Not one of my best moments, I agree, but it was right after my coronation and I needed him to look...like a noble. Especially if he was…” He cuts himself off. 

“Representing me,” Felix finishes, and sighs before checking on Dedue’s careful work. His hands are so nice and gentle; he hasn’t felt a single tug. Most of his hair has been gathered up in a tidy low knot with a thin braid from either side of his head wrapping around it. A few strands of errant hair still escape in tendrils from his temples, but it looks wedding-y, probably. Dedue reaches for the vase holding the little blue flowers and begins winding the stems through the braids. “Thank you,” Felix says softly and Dedue nods with a little smile. 

A knock at the door, and Ingrid enters, immediately sighing when she sees Dedue doing all the work. “Well, I suppose we’ve known Dedue forever as well.” Felix watches Dedue’s face in the mirror. He knows that he and Ingrid had reached some sort of understanding by the end of the war. Honestly, they probably have very compatible personalities. Caretakers. Ingrid sighs again, but more for show this time. “And he looks nice.” 

“It is a complementary color scheme,” Dedue agrees as Ingrid reaches over to thread a flower behind Felix’s ear. 

“Yes, blue has always been his color.” 

“I’m sitting right here.” 

“So you are.” Her deft fingers start a braid with one of the strands of hair that hadn’t made it to the bun and then undo it again so the hair curls against his jaw. “And we’re talking about how nice you look.” 

“Yes.” Therein lies the problem. He doesn’t know how to take compliments. Felix huffs and lets her mess around. “How’s Sylvain?” 

“Giddy as a filly he’s about to get married in front of everyone who ever knew him as a philanderer. A bit nervous maybe.” 

A bit nervous. Not great. But giddy as a filly. A good sign, right? Felix smiles innocently up at her. “Is Ferdinand here?”

Ingrid pinches the bridge of her nose. “What, you can’t hear him from here?”

Felix smiles brighter. “So is von Vestra here as well?” 

“He’s practically tied to Ferdinand by the ankle, so yes.” 

Dimitri grunts his agreement. “That was part of the deal. I’d let Hubert out of prison provided Ferdinand keeps the closest of eyes on him. There’s no way he could travel up to Fraldarius lands without him.”

Felix balances himself on the stool and folds his legs up beneath him. The trousers are nice, stretchy fabric. Sylvain thinks of everything. “Then Sylvain will be happy. Hubert tried to curse him this one time and I think he really took it personally. I’m pretty sure it was just a swear word since Hubert’s curses tend to kill, but…” He pauses and frowns. “How do we know he’s not going to try to kill us all now we’re gathered?” 

Ingrid and Dedue share an uncomfortable look. Dimitri pushes off from the wall and moves to the window. “Hubert is no longer capable of magic,” he says, voice even in a way that says he’s actually pretty upset over it. “While in prison, he...in distress at Edelgard’s...death...attempted a very advanced curse which, in his emotional distress I believe, he performed incorrectly.” 

“What, did he blow his arms off?” 

Dedue takes over. “His hands were badly wounded, and Ferdinand tells us he’d long been suffering from the effects of casting black magic. He’s no longer capable of casting any spells.”

“Though still quite handy with poisons and the rest of his arsenal,” Ingrid finishes. “Hence why Ferdinand is required to keep such a close eye, though if our dear Duke von Aegir goes one step towards the wine tonight I might just shackle Hubert to myself.”

“Saints, you people were cheery while I was gone,” Felix mutters and fiddles with his collar. “Alright, how do I look? Ready for a wedding?” He bounces off the stool to present himself. 

“Yes,” Dedue says loyally. 

“Great, because I don’t feel like I’m ready for a wedding.” Felix goes to run a hand through his hair, stops with a jolt at the collective gasp of horror, and slowly lowers his hand once more. He fiddles with his sword belts instead. They still need swords, which are waiting in the corner. Felix goes and busies himself with lacing the scabbards. “Why is everyone in my room again? I thought Dimitri was my maid of honor.”

“He couldn’t do your hair,” Ingrid reminds him, sounding cross. “What do you mean you’re not ready to get married? Haven’t you and Sylvain put the inevitable off enough already?” 

“I’m ready to get married!” Felix snaps back, nerves fraying. “Just not ready for a wedding!” He waves a vague hand towards the window. “It’s that there’s about three hundred thousand people out on my property and they’re all going to...be…”

Dimitri nods. “All-eyes-on-me is definitely more of a Sylvain thing. Did you bring it up with him?”

“Yes. During negotiations.” Months ago. Maybe Sylvain hasn’t been the only one hiding secret anxieties lately. Felix’s nervous energy transfers to the Gautier ring on his hand. He has a nicer ring for the actual marriage tucked away. Less gaudy. “When we first agreed to the alliance, we also agreed we’d move down to Fraldarius Castle, employ guards, and Sylvain had to start training again. In exchange, I agreed to a huge wedding and the awful sappy vows Sylvain said he’d write.” He slaps a hand over his eyes. “I don’t even have vows! So there’s  _ that _ to look forward to. Saints, and Leonie just had to bring the whole crew and none of them even knew who I  _ was _ and now they’re going to watch me get married as the Duke Fraldarius and I think I might be sick a little actually, I’m just going to go walk around a little if none of you mind…”

Dimitri’s hand is a clamp around his wrist. 

“It’s not like I’m going to run off again!” Felix protests, trying to pull free with no luck. Damn Dimitri’s strength. “Not for eight years, at least!”

“You’re going to go straight to Sylvain’s room, more like!” Ingrid sighs and comes to pat his cheek. “Just think about how happy Sylvain will be, getting to marry you. And on that note, I should probably get back to him. He was having trouble with his cravat when I left.” 

The other three watch the door as Ingrid leaves and shuts the door behind her. Felix fiddles with his swords and tries to block out the sound of the crowd outside. Nobles and their families, important secretaries and diplomats, representatives from every territory as well as surrounding countries, and all their old classmates to boot. At least he  _ knows _ them. “Did you feel like you were going to be sick?” he asks Dimitri. 

“The entire week,” Dimitri answers, and that makes Felix feel better. He’s not being weird then. If they can just get the ceremony over with so he can spend the rest of his life with Sylvain without three million people staring at him from carefully arranged benches, he’ll be happy. 

“Here, there’s nothing much else for you to do until the ceremony starts.” Dimitri lowers himself carefully to the floor and pulls a deck of cards from the dark and apparently endless recesses of his cloak. He begins to deal the cards three ways in a fashion Felix almost immediately recognizes as the setup for Blind Man. Might as well. 

Dedue wins all five games. And then fixes Felix’s hair in ways Felix didn’t realize were wrong and helps Dimitri put his crown on. Dimitri probably doesn’t realize how pouty he looks as Dedue secures the crown in place. Felix sniggers and then refuses to tell Dimitri why he was laughing. He, for one, laces the scabbards of his swords and then slides his weapons into place. It has an immediate calming effect on his jittering nerves. If Dimitri wasn’t in here and within the danger zone, Felix would do some basic exercises with one of the blades. He contents himself with gripping an invisible sword in his hands and moving slowly through the first sets he assigns to the castle guards every morning. Easy motions to loosen the muscles. He’s still not sure how ready for a wedding he looks, but the basic sets help calm him down a fair bit. It’s just a few minutes standing up there with the Archbishop so Important People can attest to the fact he’s actually married, and then most everyone is asked to leave so a more intimate party of their actual friends can commence tonight. There’s plenty of rooms in the castle to put them all up for the night, so they’ll do goodbyes tomorrow and then Felix and Sylvain will go on to figure out what this co-lording is actually going to entail. 

Which is going to be an experience, that’s for sure. 

But there are already good things. Felix has not missed the fact that the abandoned little village just outside castle grounds is suddenly bustling with life again, the way he remembers it from his childhood. Occupants in the castle means traffic and money. It makes sense for people to want to move closer. Felix had used some of his ridiculous inheritance to repair many of the homes and buildings, and several of the new castle guards live off grounds with their families instead of in the barracks. Felix hopes the shops budding there will make a profit off the wedding guests today. He’d actually poured a lot into that town for a while, since Sylvain hadn’t moved south yet and Felix was bored. Sylvain had sent Linus down to help with the Fraldarius accounts, which had been an awkward reunion, but other than that, Felix has been left dismally alone to learn how to do his job. He gets it. He does. That’s Sylvain’s home, and he’s more attached to it—the good and bad memories—than Felix is to the castle, which became a husk after Glenn died. But the Fraldarius Castle is more central, more strategic, and they’d both agreed to live here. Also Ms. Ada won’t be coming south, no matter how Sylvain tried to beg her. It doesn’t make sense for an old woman to pack up her whole life and pretty extensive extended family—from what Felix understands—just to serve the same brats under a different roof. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt a bit. The point is: he gets it. Sylvain needed that time. And Felix used it productively. He furnished the castle, or at least dusted it off a little. He hired the guard from various regions across Fódlan and began training them. He got better at riding a horse. He practiced the waltz with Linus one evening they’ve sworn each other to secrecy, mostly because it turns out they’re both so terrible at dancing it can lead to the tragic deaths of valuable vases and possibly people if the room had been occupied. He had practically daily correspondence with Dimitri over the whole duke thing and visited Fhirdiad six separate times for five extended lessons and his first diplomatic meeting, which consisted of mostly being bored because Dagda isn’t sly like Almyra and then pasting a fake smile on his face for so long he could have sworn it would get stuck. He hadn’t even convinced Dedue to come with him and live as the Fraldarius chef. Another blow. But it had meant he’d started a garden when he got back, like Dedue’s at the capitol. He personally hates gardening, but the twin sisters he’d hired as head cooks had been enthusiastic enough about having a patch of land for ingredients and a couple of the guards had appropriated some dirt to grow flowers on. It was unexpectedly nice to see. 

And then Sylvain officially moved in five days ago. Felix had forgotten how it felt to actually sleep well with Sylvain warm against him. No sex though. Felix is still annoyed about that. Something about the wedding, blah blah blah. Felix couldn’t give less of a damn. Maybe he should go tell Sylvain that. They’re having sex tonight. Please. He’ll ask nicely. It turns out that he likes it a lot. 

But, again, it feels like the moons apart have made Sylvain oddly hesitant. Felix wants to use his hands, his mouth, his everything to convince Sylvain that this is real, he is staying, he loves him, but Sylvain always stalls their kisses, because of the wedding he claims.

Felix worries that Sylvain is just waiting for him to leave. Didn’t the fact Felix welcomed him home five days ago say enough? If Felix was going to leave, he would have done it like a coward before Sylvain was here to see. But he supposes it will take him a while to convince Sylvain that he’s signed onto this forever thing. He just wishes he knew how to be more convincing. He doesn’t know how to overwrite years.

“It’s time,” Dedue says, and Felix halts mid-motion, invisible sword held in the air. Dimitri sighs and fluffs his cape a bit. He extends a hand to Felix. 

“Alright, so the procession goes Byleth, me and Dedue, then you and Sylvain simultaneously. They’ll play the trumpets for us all separately so you’ll know when to move.” 

“I know.” Ingrid had gone over this with them last night. 

“Normally you would pick someone to accompany you down the aisle but…”

“But we don’t have any family left and having the king hold my hand at my own wedding would be weird, yes, I said I know.” He knows he’s getting snappy. Felix shuts his eyes and breathes deep. “Sorry.” He lets Dimitri help him up out of the half-crouch he’d frozen in. “Let’s just...get this over with so we can get to the part with alcohol.”

“You have the ring?” 

Felix holds up both the silver band he’ll give Sylvain today and his hand with the Gautier Crest. Wiggles his fingers. “I have the rings.”

Dimitri shares a glance with Dedue, who inclines his head. “Well then, I think that’s everything important. Byleth will give most of the instructions so it’s difficult to mess up.” 

“Watch me,” Felix mutters darkly, but heads for the door anyway. 

***

Saints, there are a lot of people. 

Felix hides as best he can behind Dedue, like that makes any difference. They share the small tent—situated at the very edge of the canopy—with Dimitri, who is muttering under his breath, something about hating his crown and how it makes his head heavy. Every once in a while the breeze makes the tent flap open and Felix can stare out at the aisles and aisles of people out there waiting for him. But if he hides behind Dedue, hopefully no one can see him back. And he knows people are going to stare much more at him than they will at Sylvain. He’s been missing, after all, for years. 

He wishes it was just one tent. Then Sylvain would be here to hold his hand. Instead, they’re alternating entrances from two separate tents on either side of the altar. An altar on a dias, decorated with flowers, looking down upon rows and rows of white benches, packed with people. The canopy, Felix notes with a bit of smugness, had held up perfectly overnight. It shields the guests from the noonday sun, keeps them from complaining. And it’s his own men guarding the perimeter of the castle grounds along with more of Dimitri’s knights. Like hell Felix was going to let them watch him get all gooey just because he’s getting married to the fucking love of his life. 

There’s the sound of trumpets, and the audience quiets down. Alright, time for the Archbishop to make her appearance. 

And she must, because the quiet becomes an absolute silence, appropriate for an Archbishop who doesn’t even look like she’s of this world. Felix glances out from behind Dedue. Yep, Byleth is decked out like the Goddess herself, proceeding calmly towards the altar, soundless footsteps on the rug that’s been laid before the dias and down the middle aisle. She goes to stand right before the dias, and then faces the crowd, bowing her head slightly, before turning and going to stand behind the altar. Trumpets play. The signal. Dimitri pushes his shoulders back, glances at Felix with a reassuring smile, and pushes open the flap. 

The appearance of the king causes a bit more applause than Byleth’s entrance. Dedue follows Dimitri, his protective shadow. Felix knows Dimitri is sitting with Ingrid and Ashe as well, should an assassination plot arise. Really it could have been any couple of knights but, hey, why not? It gets Ashe and Ingrid good seats. Dimitri walks a little less purposefully than Byleth and Felix totally catches the eyes they’re giving each other. Dimitri even waggles his fingers a bit with the hand hidden from the audience. Felix sighs. He can’t even be annoyed when it’s sort of damn cute. But Dimitri reaches approximately center stage at last, raises a hand in greeting, and then proceeds—there is an  _ art _ to proceeding and Dimitri is good at it—to where there’s a space waiting for him and Dedue on the front bench. His crown stayed on the whole time, IFelix notes, despite all the complaining. 

Trumpets. Oh. Shit, that’s him, isn’t it? Felix straightens his sword belt, very carefully does  _ not _ run a hand through his hair, and tries to make his stomach stop jumping. He needs to get out there or Sylvain will reach the dias without him. Is his vest on straight? His swords are...he just checked those seconds ago. Saints, he’s so…

He needs to move. Felix sneaks over to the flap while trying to convince himself he’s not actually sneaking and dares to push the flap open, just a little, and peer outside. His hands clench hard in the tent fabric. Yes, there are a lot of people, and a lot of eyes just rotated his way, staring intently. A low murmur of conversation starts up. It’s movement from the front row that catches his attention. Ingrid and Ashe, frantically gesturing for him to get going, really rather unbecoming of royal knights. Felix shuts his eyes, breathes deep, and then swivels his head to stare out past the altar and to the figure already strolling casually out the opposite tent towards him with a smile. 

He needs to move. Felix rushes from the tent much too quickly, but he doesn’t care. The sooner he’s up on that dias with Sylvain, the sooner everything will be alright. Sylvain’s grin grows and he mouths something that Felix knows is ‘slow down’ without actually being able to read his lips from this distance. He straightens up and tries to proceed like Dimitri does. He’s not very good at it. 

But Sylvain? Sylvain looks like a field of wildflowers, all blue and white and unrestrained smiles, sunshine and mountain lakes and twenty-three flowers placed upon his face before Felix finally told him off and Sylvain assured him that blue flowers are good luck. That  _ had _ come from a story, one so brief that Felix hadn’t remembered it until now. Blue flowers for luck. And as they approach each other, he can see the lazy chain of blue flowers weaving through Sylvain’s curls, the way he’s tucked the little flowers into his cuffs, woven a small bracelet of the things to go around one wrist. If these flowers are luck, Sylvain is betting everything on them. The wind picks up and ruffles Sylvain’s hair, makes his light blue cape flutter out like a piece of fallen sky. 

Everywhere Felix is black, Sylvain is white, his hair a shock of color. It suits him, and the blue plays with his hair in a way that reminds Felix of when he’d search for Sylvain amongst an entire army, seeking his shade of red. Sylvain doesn’t wear swords, naturally, and he has the cape that dances behind him as he goes instead of a vest, but otherwise their outfits are fairly similar. Felix can still tell people are staring at him, of course, but he doesn’t understand why. He couldn’t take his eyes off Sylvain right now for the cost of his life. Saints, he actually gets to marry this man. 

And then Sylvain meets his gaze and sticks his tongue out a little bit, the idiot. Felix raises an eyebrow. Saints, he’s marrying this man. 

The walk up to the dias seems much easier now, and soon they’re up on the platform with Byleth, nodding to her politely. Sylvain studies Felix top to toe and winks. “Knew you’d look hot.” 

“Please don’t start,” Byleth whispers, almost a plea. It’s more...emotion than Felix remembers from her, but he likes it. Sylvain snorts so hard it probably hurts. Loud enough that the audience probably hears.

“You’re so dumb,” Felix informs him, a little quieter. Sylvain nods a little in easy agreement as he straightens up and fixes his cravat. A flower is falling out of place from behind Sylvain’s ear. Felix reaches out to tuck it back, and Sylvain catches his hand and kisses his palm. “You ready?” 

Byleth mutters something under her breath and shifts in the heavy official outfit. 

“Sorry, Professor, what was that?” Sylvain asks, giving Felix his hand back but letting his own fingers linger on the details of Felix’s wedding suit, the ruffles on the hems, the buttons, the fabric of the vest. 

“I said,” Byleth repeats through gritted teeth, “That he better be.”

Sylvain snorts again, a little gentler. Felix fiddles with his sword belt. As enamored as he might be with his husband-to-be, he doesn’t appreciate the way the crowd is doubtlessly gossiping. His fingers fall to brush against the hilts of his swords and the feel of the metal is instantly calming. “Can we please just get started?”

Byleth nods and straightens up. The crowd instantly goes quiet as she begins to sing some hymn to the Goddess. The way the canopy is set up projects her voice over the crowd fairly well. The guards had tested it while attaching canvas sides to the canopy around the front area and the dias, to make sure that Felix had been able to hear them from the very back of the benches when they raised their voice by just a bit. Now, Felix uses the lack of movement to try to spot familiar faces. He’d been too busy letting Dimitri get him ready to greet people when they arrived. He thinks he spots a few redheads in the crowd that could be Annette. Goneril, Gloucester, and Claude are sitting right in the front row of seats, along with Dimitri and the others. The queen of Brigid is here. That’s nice of her. Ferdinand is as close as you get for representation from the old Empire, so he’s up front next to Petra. Which means the man next to him must be von Vestra. He sure cleaned up nice, didn’t he? Hardly looks murderous at all. (This hymn to the Goddess is really fucking long, isn’t it?) Felix is sure the others are out there. They just aren’t the King of Almyra, so they don’t get good seats. He’s pretty sure he knows the general location of Leonie and their mercs due to the general disruptive noise level. They were never known for their ability to be polite.

Byleth stops singing and there’s a general bowing of heads and various murmurs of devoutness. Felix can hear Byleth trying to clear her throat and wishes he’d thought to bring some water. But then Sylvain taps his cheek and brings Felix’s attention back to what’s actually happening. Oh yeah. He should look like he’s paying attention. Now the stuff about Sothis is over, maybe there’s a reason to. 

“Thank you,” Byleth starts, projecting as best she can, “To all those gathered here today to witness…”

Actually this is still sort of boring. Felix feels even more sorry for Byleth now. Lucky the Archbishop doesn’t have to do this personally very often. Just for important ones. She talks a bit about how the crowd will witness the union of individuals, but also how this is the union and solidification of the Fraldarius and Gautier names under an unbreakable alliance, except with a lot more fluff to make it sound pretty. If Felix was officiating, the service would be over in two minutes. But it really hammers home the joining of the Fraldarius and Gautier houses, which is good. It’s what they wanted. And then Byleth stops speaking to the crowd and smiles at Felix and Sylvain on a smaller, intimate level as she adjusts her headpiece. 

“Alright, this is the time for vows, if you have them.” 

“I do.” Sylvain nods at her and steps forward a little when Byleth recedes to give him the stage. He stares solemnly at Felix, which is how Felix knows this is about to be  _ awful _ . 

“Felix...Hugo...Fraldarius…” Sylvain’s voice is so slow and drawly, a smile already playing at the edges of his lips, his words carrying out over the audience. “You are the moon in my night sky, my precious jewel among a thousand simple stones, my...ah, nope, can’t do it.” He muffles his laughter into a fist, shoulders shaking, and he is the only one of the two of them who thinks this is funny. “Hold on, hold on, I’m sorry…” Sylvain breathes in deep and then reaches over to boop Felix on the nose. If they were alone, Felix would bite him. In front of three hundred people, he has to settle for batting the hand away and snapping, quietly as he can under the circumstances, “Sylvain, what the fuck?”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to this,” Byleth mutters to herself. Again, way more emotion than Felix remembers. She changed while he was gone. The audience is murmuring a bit, positive or negative Felix can’t tell but it’s annoying anyway. He shouldn’t have agreed to this either, fuck. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry everyone.” Sylvain wheezes a little and looks out at their audience. Ingrid looks thoroughly unimpressed if unsurprised. “Sorry, I just...I said I was going to write really awful sappy vows but when I tried, they were all so stupid I just...had to say some of the best bits for the hell of it but alright, I’m being serious now.” He grins at Felix, who casts his eyes to the front bench to search for sympathy. Ashe meets his gaze and grimaces a bit with a shrug.

“Hey, Fe? I’m being serious now.” 

Felix turns back to Sylvain with a sigh. “I’m listening. And I’m armed, in case you forgot.” He can’t believe they’re having a couple’s argument at their wedding.

“Ah, if you were going to kill me it would have happened a long time ago.” Sylvain waves the threat away. “Anyway, sorry Archbishop, I’ll say my vows.” He grabs Felix’s hand, squeezes hard once, and then, slowly and carefully, begins playing with his fingers, almost like he’s nervous. Is he nervous? Felix lets Sylvain keep his hand, lets him continue messing with his fingers. Yes, Sylvain is actually nervous. He nods to himself a few times and rolls his shoulders back, speaking out to the audience once more though he doesn’t get any more formal. Less so, even. “Alright. I’m being serious. Completely serious. And there’s a lot of people listening to this, which makes it weird, but okay. It’s weird. Getting married is a little weird.” Sylvain doesn’t meet Felix’s eyes as he talks. Just keeps playing with his fingers. “It’s probably the best thing I’m ever going to do, but it’s still weird. Mostly because I never really thought I’d be this happy, y’know?” He twists the Gautier ring around and around. “You just make me happy Felix. You make me want to be good. So maybe it’s the right thing we took so long to get here. So I’d have time to learn how to become better.”

Become better? What the hell is he talking about?

“Sylvain—” Felix starts, but Sylvain shushes him and raises his hand to kiss one of his fingertips. 

“I’m still talking. Rude. But I know you also hate standing up here with everyone staring, so I’ll be brief.” He takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes for a moment before continuing. “I once told you a bunch of stories, trying to make things better or more special or whatever. I told you that this ring—” He holds up his hand with the Fraldarius Crest. “—will always bring you home. I told you that if you throw a stone off the Bridge of Myrddin and count to seven, it will grant a wish. I told you that blue flowers bring good luck.” He grins then, and spares a hand to brush at the flowers in his hair. He finally locks eyes with Felix and winces a bit with a one-shouldered shrug. His voice loses any airiness and becomes almost distressingly earnest. “We both knew they were just stories, but I never stopped wanting to make the world a better place for you. I want everything to be better for you. I want to be better. I want the world to be better.” A small frown scurries across his expression and he lowers Felix’s hand, releases it, draws his arms back to his own body, though his hands stay open, expressive, imploring. “I know we can’t rely on stories to fix things, but I want everything to be better so you never regret this moment, or when...when you chose to stay.” It’s ambiguous enough wording that only a few of them will understand. “I want to make staying worth it.”

So these have been the thoughts creeping into Sylvain’s head over their time apart. It’s almost a relief to know, though Felix would have preferred to learn this not at the altar. 

It’s also infuriating. Felix stares at Sylvain’s almost anxious expression, at his hands spread wide and clutching empty air, at the way he’s tucked his arms up against his sides like a soldier, like a brace, and he hates how breakable Sylvain looks, not just because this is their wedding, or because there’s a couple hundred people watching, but because he’d hoped they were  _ past _ all this. Past the insecurities, past the what-ifs. Straight into a happy ending. They were at a happy ending, weren’t they? 

But part of being married is going to be realizing that grand confessions only heal so much. Being in love is not a one time thing. It is a lifetime of commitment, constant little reminders, and an endless string of small I-love-yous. That’s what they’ve signed up for, right? Forever?

Sylvain shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat, and the wind tugs at the good luck flowers in his hair. It’s becoming increasingly obvious, not just to Felix but to everyone, that Sylvain had deviated from his own script and now doesn’t know what to say. For once, he falters in front of a crowd.

Twenty-three flowers, and a feeling of forever, because Felix has loved him for forever, and Sylvain deserves to know it.

Fuck, but Felix does love him. And he hates that his own actions could make Sylvain believe he’d  _ ever _ regret choosing to stay. He moves without really thinking about it. Like a sword drill, he goes through the motions. His hands land on Sylvain’s shoulders and he pushes up on his toes to try to kiss that expression off Sylvain’s face. He kisses him hard. Lip-bleed hard. He’s out of practice, alright? There’s some whistles from the audience but he doesn’t care. 

“That’s not the order of things,” Sylvain gasps out when Felix has to lower himself back down, his eyes blown wide. 

“That doesn’t have to be the  _ kiss  _ kiss,” Felix snips. “You’re just being stupid. Didn’t I say I wouldn’t ever walk away?” 

“Well, okay, but you could still regret it,” Sylvain answers a little sulkily. This is probably the worst wedding ever. Byleth’s expression says something along those lines. 

Also, that’s the stupidest thing Sylvain has ever said, or at least a contender. I love you. I’ll marry you. I won’t ever let you feel lonely. He’d promised. Felix had promised. His regrets lie in the past, in running away and never turning to anyone for help. His regret will not lie in choosing to stay. “I won’t regret it!” Felix almost shouts. Perhaps completely shouts. “Archbishop, I want to say my vows!”

Byleth gestures with one magnanimous, yet also incredibly exasperated hand. “Please.” 

“Great.” Felix squares his shoulders and licks where his lip is now bleeding. Wow. Vows. He doesn’t have those, actually. But he’s feeling frustrated enough—at himself mostly—that it fuels his words. “What’s this?” He plucks a flower from Sylvain’s hair and holds it in front of him. 

“A flower?” Sylvain’s brows knit. Probably wondering if Felix has lost it completely. 

“A blue flower,” Felix agrees, and then gestures out at the audience. “And what are we doing right now?” 

“Getting married?” Sylvain answers in the same bewildered tone, but it’s almost overpowered by their guests who think this is now an interactive part of the ceremony. 

“Getting married!”

“Getting hitched!” 

“Getting  _ fucking _ married!” Ah yes, he’s located Leonie and the crew. Right side, middle rows. 

“Getting on with it?” a singular bored tone from the vicinity of Goneril offers, and Felix makes note to shove cake down her dress later. 

“We’re getting married!” he yells to match the crowd, and tucks the flower back into place in Sylvain’s hair. “I say that’s some really fucking good luck, wouldn’t you?” And, before Sylvain can respond or anyone can reprimand him for swearing at the altar, he continues. “I threw a stone off the Bridge of Myrddin and waited seven seconds. Do you know what I wished for? I wished for you to see me, to notice me. To love me the way I loved you, even back then. That was what I wanted more than anything! And this?” He grapples for Sylvain’s hand and holds it tight. “That ring? The one always supposed to bring the bearer home? Where are we right now, Sylvain?” He glances up at Sylvain’s face, smiles as hard as he can, so much his cheeks hurt, and says, “We’re home! We’re home, and we’re together, and that’s as home as it gets, for us, I think. So maybe they were just stories, and we can’t use stories to make the world better, but it wasn’t ever the stories that made my world better. It was you. It was always you, fulfilling those stories you told me. So just…” He’s no good at endings. And Sylvain is looking like Felix just slapped him silly. Felix shrugs. It’s all he can think to do. “They’re not stories, Sylvain, because you’re the best part of every one of them, and you’re completely real.” He snaps his gaze over to Byleth, beseeching. “Can we get married now?” 

Byleth bites down hard on her lip, but she’s smiling. “I should have known it would be like this. Alright, I need to sing again.” 

Sylvain chuckles softly and brushes a hand against Felix’s cheek. “It was always me, huh?” His tone is almost teasing, and it draws Felix’s eyes back to him. He’s worried his vows might have been a bit harsh, but Sylvain has lost that dumbstruck expression in favor of one that is soft and fond. He leans in a little closer, almost close enough for a kiss. “And it was always you.” He smiles then, bright and true. “I realized something, the day you promised to marry me.”

“What’s that?” Felix makes sure to keep his voice low, their conversation private.

“That I don’t need the stories anymore. You make my world better without them.” He glances away, a little bashful. “Guess I forgot that I’d realized that. It’s been a long couple of months.” 

Felix stares at his profile and reaches for Sylvain’s hips to pull him closer, and gentle tug. A lifetime of loving each other, and many years of Felix making up for his own choices. He’ll always be happy to remind Sylvain that they don’t need stories to make the world worth staying for. Perhaps in the past, stories were something beautiful between them, but now they can just be them and it’s fine. But those words don’t belong up here, in front of everyone, even too quiet to hear. Instead, Felix tips his head against Sylvain’s chest for a moment before stepping away. He squeezes Sylvain’s waist twice before letting it slip from his grasp. He looks to Byleth, and she looks back, and it’s so easy to remember the blank stare she had held as his teacher. But now she smiles, sweet and soft. “It looks like we both learned how to let people know our emotions.” 

Felix lets his mouth quirk up at one side. “It’s easier this way, isn’t it?”

She nods, and then has to reach to hold her headpiece in place. “Damn thing.”

“Glad it’s not on my head.” 

“You’re both adorably emotional,” Sylvain drawls, reaching to play with Felix’s belt, “But I have a lovely ring here I’d love to put on a certain someone’s finger.” 

Byleth gives him a Look and then begins to sing once more. Blah blah Sothis. Blah blah Beginning. It’s still really boring, no matter who sings it. Finally it’s over, and Byleth gestures Sylvain and Felix to step close once more, not that they were ever that far apart. “Sylvain Jose Gautier, if you would, with this ring, bind yourself, body and soul, to the one before you, beneath the eyes of the Goddess, then please show your devotion at the time.” 

The ring is silver, to match the Gautier Crest. It twists upon itself, with small amber stones embedded inside. Way fancier than the silver band Felix prepared. Sylvain smiles to himself as he slips it onto Felix’s ring finger. “Ta-da.”

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius, if you would, with this ring…”

Felix is acting before Byleth finishes. He tugs the ring from his waistband and nabs Sylvain’s hand. He’s careful to be gentle sliding the ring on though. Nothing special. Just a silver band made by the blacksmith near the Gautier mansion, the same one who made Felix’s swords. He likes the idea of it protecting Sylvain in the event Felix can’t be there. He feels a bit embarrassed by how plain it is, but Sylvain just catches his hand and brings it up for a kiss. Now they both have two rings, binding them to each other. 

“I think we can kiss now,” Felix tells him, extremely serious, and Sylvain is frowning and nodding when he straightens up. 

“Yes, I suppose that might be acceptable. I’m going to dip you though, so be ready.”

“Okay, wait, no, what?” 

Sylvain kisses him, hand firm in the small of Felix’s back holding him steady when Sylvain leans in and forces Felix’s knees to buckle. Felix can hear the crowd cheering and whistling and it’s embarrassing as hell but he sort of likes it too. There. Now he’s Sylvain’s husband. Take that. He folds both arms around Sylvain’s neck and holds on when Sylvain dips him closer to the ground, and then refuses to let go when his husband—his  _ husband— _ straightens up. They’re both grinning like fools when they finally break the kiss. 

“Hello husband,” Felix says, trying to bite down on his smile. 

“My dearest spouse,” Sylvain replies, and rubs their noses together. “Wow, I married a looker.” 

“Is this the part everyone drinks wine?” 

“I think we’ve reached that part, yes.” 

They get that much before their audience decides the time for orderly conduct is over. Well, not like it had been an orderly wedding in the first place. Ingrid is crying as she tackles them at the dias, Ashe yelping and trying to prevent them all from falling over. Dimitri comes up and slips an arm around Byleth’s waist. Dedue leans over and whispers a ‘congratulations’ to Felix and Sylvain before taking his place at Dimitri’s side. 

“So I guess the Fraldarius-Gautier Alliance is well and truly sealed?” Felix asks over his shoulder at Dimitri, who is making stupid gooey eyes at Byleth. 

“I considered it sealed the moment you agreed to be my Duke Fraldarius,” Dimitri answers, and Sylvain laughs and kisses Felix’s cheek before he can get actually annoyed at that answer. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here for a while and kiss like a couple of schoolkids,” Sylvain whispers in his ear. “Let His Highness and the rest deal with our guests. We’ll see everyone important for dinner tonight.” 

It’s an attractive proposition. Felix places his hand in Sylvain’s, feeling the extra weight of the new ring around his finger, and lets Sylvain lead him off, ducking behind the altar and out from under the canopy, through the side flaps. He’s as familiar with the best spots to hide around the castle as Felix is. They’d ruled this place once, with wooden swords and childhood dreams. Maybe a few people see them go, but no one stops them as they run off through the fields of flowers—yellow, not blue—and towards the trees, dressed in their wedding best, twin pieces of fallen sky. 

They are their own story, writing their own forever. 


End file.
